Chapter 10 Beck
BECK
The bouquet on the passenger seat was tiny compared to the one that had rotted in my hotel room. This one was made up of white roses and eucalyptus. Emma, the florist, convinced me that the duo was the perfect combo for Clara and our 'situation.'
I stared at the flowers, then squinted through the windshield at the sunny afternoon. I was parked at the edge of the outdoor rink. From where I sat, I could make out a lone figure skating across the ice.
Even from a hundred yards away, I knew it was her. There was an aggression to her skating. She was carving into the ice, attacking the take-offs and landings of her jumps. A dog sat on the snowbank, watching her.
I killed the engine of the SUV. The silence of the mountains was interrupted by the thumping in my chest.
The wind had shifted. When I stepped out of the car the air felt damp and heavy, as though a storm was coming. Shivering, I clutched the flowers in one hand and gripped the collar of my coat shut with the other.
The dog spotted me before I made it to the boards. He charged, letting out a series of barks.
"Easy, pup!” I spoke in a calm, don’t attack me, voice.
Clara skidded to a stop near the boards. Her cheeks were flushed a bright red that matched her candy-cane striped hat.
She looked at the roses and rolled her eyes. "White roses? You've got to be kidding me."
"Emma insisted," I shrugged. "She said something about the white of winter and eucalyptus representing spring. New beginnings and thawing, or something like that."
Clara crossed her arms. "I don't want them, Beckett."
I set them on the boards. I knew how much she loved roses and wouldn't let them die like I had. "I spoke to Mr. King."
Clara raised her eyebrows. "And? Why are you telling me this?"
"Clara, I've spent the last week meeting with Rapidians. I talked to Logan. And Evan. I know about the programs now." The words came faster as I continued. "I should've known. I should've done my homework. I'm sorry."
"She laughed.”You're always sorry, aren't you?"
"Clara—"
I tried to sound confident, channeling the energy I used on the ice during games. "I didn't know about the charity ice time. That all happened… after I left."
"Save it." She pushed off the boards and skated away.
"Wait." I jogged along beside the rink. "The programs aren't going anywhere. Mr. King promised. You can keep teaching. The kids can keep skating."
This made her stop. Her hands were balled into fists on her hips, but at least she was looking at me. I had to get to the point. "I know how important it is for kids to have access to sports. It can save lives."
I think her shoulders softened, but it was hard to tell under her giant parka. "Mr. King agreed to provide subsidized ice time for your program, and for Logan's hockey kids. I'm getting it drafted into the agreement."
To my surprise, she didn't smile. The only thing she did was narrow her eyes even further. "You expect me to believe that William King, the billionaire who drains swamps for golf courses, is going to do something for free? Because you asked nicely?"
"I'm persuasive."
"You're either lying, Beckett, or you're an idiot." She pushed off the boards, gliding backward away from me. "Go home. Before you freeze to death in your designer coat."
"Clara, wait." I unlatched the boards and stepped onto the ice. "I'm trying to fix this. I didn't know about… a lot of stuff."
She dug in her toe-picks, grinding to a halt. "That's right, Beckett. You don't know about anything that happened here after you left. Why? Because the second you left this town it ceased to exist in your life." Her voice shook and her face flashed red with anger.
"I had to leave!" I snapped.
The sky, which had been the color of a bluebird, had shifted closer to that of a raven.
Clara drifted further away.
"Look, the point is, I fixed it. You win. The programs stay."
"I don't trust you."
"I know."
A snowflake landed on her eyelash and she brushed it away with her mitten. Within ten seconds, the lazy flurries had turned into a curtain of white. The wind picked up, howling through the valley like a freight train.
"Beckett." Clara looked at the sky. "We need to go."
"It's just snow."
"The wind is coming from the North. You should remember what that means." She turned to whistle for the dog. "Dash! Come!"
The dog was at the tree-line, barking furiously at something in the shadows. A deer? A coyote? Whatever it was, he’d decided it was more interesting than a random guy showing up to grovel to his owner. He bolted into the woods.
"Dash! No!" Clara screamed. She skating hard toward the far end of the rink.
"Clara, stop! You're in skates!"
She didn't listen. She hopped off the ice and scrambled up the snowbank, running awkwardly on her blades.
"Shit." I looked at the rental car. It was barely visible through the white wall of snow. Clara's puffy coat, disappeared into the woods.
I grabbed her boots and I ran after her.
By the time I caught up, Clara was sitting in a drift. Her hands shook as she tried to unhook the laces on her skates. Wind gusts whipped snow from the field into small tornadoes and the icy pellets drilled into my cheeks.
"He went that way," she choked out, pointing into the forest. "I have to get him."
"You are not going in there without boots." I dropped to my knees in the snow. "Let me."
"I can do it."
She swatted at my hand like it was summer and I was a mosquito.
"Clara, stop fighting me for one second!" I batted her hands and yanked the laces loose. I pulled the stiff boot off her left foot, then her right. She shoved her feet into her Sorel boots.
"Dash!" She screamed into the wind.
A faint bark answered from ahead.
We stumbled forward into the knee-deep snow. The trees provided a little cover from the wind, but the visibility was still zero.
"There!" Clara shouted.
Dash's collar was snagged on a mess of sumac branches. Clara collapsed on top of the dog, burying her face in his wet fur. "You idiot. You bad, bad boy."
I grabbed his collar before he could decide to bolt deeper into the woods. "We have to go back. Now."
Clara stood up, pulled a leash from the pocket of her jacket, and clipped it on with trembling fingers. She turned around, and I saw the fear in her eyes. "Which way is the rink?"
"We have to follow our tracks before they get buried. I have no idea what direction to go if we lose them," I admitted. The tracks we'd made were already filling with fresh powder.
"We need to go. Now." She scooped her dog into her arms. "His paws are frozen."
My face was already numb. "Clara. I've got him." I took the dog from her arms. "Hold onto the belt on my coat."
I expected resistance, but she nodded and tucked her fingers between the belt and my back.
"The fishing huts," she said. "If we get back to the rink we can cut across the bay. We can wait out the blizzard there."
"Follow me." Before she could protest, I tucked my chin into the collar of my coat and broke the wind as I focused on the quickly fading tracks. It was a miserable march, and the dog was no lightweight.
After what felt like an hour, the lights from the rink materialized ahead of us.
"Thank God," I muttered.
"There!" Clara shouted in my ear and pointed to a faint square shape about a hundred feet from the rink.
We wrestled the door open. The wind caught it and nearly ripped it off its hinges. We tumbled inside in a flurry of snow. I slammed the door and latched it shut.
It was pitch black. The air inside was freezing, and stank like bait fish, but it wasn't moving at a million miles an hour.
"Do you have your phone?" Clara pulled off her gloves and cupped her hands in front of her lips.
I pulled mine out. "No service. You?"
"Dead battery."
I used my phone's flashlight to scan the hut. There was a bench on either side, a hole covered with a piece of plywood, and in the corner, next to some plastic bins stood a small wood-stove.
"Please tell me there's wood," I said.
Clara was already at the stove, opening the iron door. "Kindling and a lighter. Thank you, fisherman boy scout."
I watched her work. Within minutes, a small fire crackled, and with it, shadows danced against the walls. "There." I grabbed a kerosene lantern from the wall.
Clara pulled a lighter from her pocket, and through a joint effort, I operated the dial to let out the gas while she lit the mantle. The entire hut lit up like it was the middle of the day.
We collapsed onto the narrow bench, sitting on opposite ends. The dog curled up between us. Clara blew on her hands again and held onto his back paws. I took off my gloves and did the same with his front.
"How long is this storm supposed to last?" I asked.
"This wasn't in the forecast at all." Clara pulled her knees to her chest. “It’s Chance Rapids. It could be ten minutes, or two days…"
"I can make it to my car."
Clara raised her eyebrows. "The car that was already in the ditch once this month? There's already a foot of snow. No, at least here we have a fire and…" She rummaged through a bin and held up some jerky. "Food."
We sat in silence for a long time, listening to the wind’s attempts to tear off the roof. The hut warmed up slowly. The wet wool smell from my coat mixed with the woodsmoke and instant coffee Clara found stashed with the jerky.
“Clara. Can we put the past behind us. I’m a different person now.”
She scoffed. “I know. You’re an even bigger asshole now.”
“I guess I deserve that, but there are things you don’t know.”
“Like what?”
I sighed. “I don’t know where to start.”
“How about you start with the part where you told me you’d outgrown the town, and me. Did you mean it?"
I sighed, staring at the rusty stovepipe. I hadn't planned on telling anyone. It didn't fit the narrative of Beckett Shepherd, successful developer, the poor kid who left town and made it big.